Always Next Time
by I Heard A Voice
Summary: What Cecilia was thinking on her first try. It's a cliched topic, but whatever. Rated for swearing and graphic-y-ness.


People: I have never read the book, or seen the movie. Well, I did read the "Take a look inside!" thing on the book on Amazon, but that hardly counts. So this fanfic is based on the Amazon thing and the other fan fictions on this site. So if I get details wrong, many apologies. This story is kind of graphic, so again, many apologies. 

OH I FORGOT I don't own the characters. I don't even own the pants I'm wearing. I borrowed 'em from my friend. How sad is that?

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I placed the picture on the floor. Mom and Dad enforced religion so much I thought I would go crazy. Teenage rebellion, I guess you could call this. The picture was very shiny. Water splashed on the picture as I ran the bath, but the colour didn't fade, because I'd had it laminated. I searched for Dad's razors. I found them and tried to set them down on the toilet seat without shaking too much. I chose the sharpest razorblade and carefully picked it out, avoiding slicing my fingers. I looked over at the bath. It looked full enough. I stripped down and got in. As I was climbing into the bath, I knocked Mom's shampoo into the water.

"Cecilia? Are you alright? Cecilia?"

"Fine! I'm fine," I called. Fine? I would never be fine, I never had been fine. I could pretend to be. Thirteen years of lying and pretending. That's a long time.

I was in the bath now. I reached for the razorblade from my father's razorblade replacement case. I nicked my finger as I picked it up and dropped it to the floor in my shock. 

"SHIT!" I cried, and then clamped my hand over my mouth. The last thing I needed now was to be chastised for cursing. As I looked up at the cream coloured ceiling, I spoke to the cold night air.

"Thirteen years. Thirteen years of all the religion!" I spat the word out like it was a curse. "Bible study, religious education, and of course, how could we forget, Sunday service. Ash Wednesday. Good Friday. Easter Monday. Christmas Eve midnight service. Christmas Day service. First communion. Abstinence. And holy fucking matrimony!" I took a deep breath. But I was hardly done with my ranting.

"No dating until I'm fourteen. And then when I got closer to fourteen, no dating until I'm sixteen. Not that I listened. When you preached about the seven deadly sins, I was experiencing them. When you praised the seven heavenly virtues, guess what? I was defying them. And now, now, I'm going against everything you've ever said." I had plenty more to say, but the time was running out and I needed to get this over with.

More carefully now, I picked up the razor from the floor and put it on the soap ledge, and picked up the picture of the Virgin Mary and put it on the edge of the bath. 

"Now," I murmured. "Vertical? Or horizontal? What was that mnemonic?" I was about to cut horizontally when I remembered it. "'Horizontal for hospital, vertical for death'. Okay, vertical it is." I took a final deep breath, and reached for the picture. I laid it on my blossoming chest. I was a late developer. 

I tucked my hair behind my ears and closed my eyes, not wanting to see what I was doing to do to myself. I winced and bit my lip as the razor bit my flesh. I went slowly down my longest vein on my left arm. Tears seeped out of my eyes as I switched around to do the same to my right arm. My arms were numb. 

The water was turning a diluted red. It reminded me of the colour of Mom's nail varnish when she left it too long without shaking it. A pale, watery red that wasn't a red but wasn't a pink either. I placed the razor on the toilet seat, a little pool of pink water around it. 

The world started to turn black. I began to lose sense of what was happening. I took a final glance around the bathroom. 

But wait, how could I see things? I had slit the wrists that had-wait, they had stopped bleeding? No, no, they were still seeping red blood, as if an invisible hand were pulling two satin scarves from my wrists. I was confused. I was still here? But-why?

I heard thumping up the stairs and my mother, father, and sisters shouting as they stormed upstairs. My mother opened the door and shrieked. 

The sight was certainly dramatic: lying in a crimson red bath, with my hair floating out behind my head like a golden circular pillow, a picture of the Virgin Mary on my torso. I saw large bodies bundle over towards me, pushing past my parents and sisters, looking at me, tying very tight bandages on my arms, lifting my out of the bath. Although the world was going dark again, I could still feel the cold wind blowing through the lightly curtained window, still feel my damp hair brush against my bare back. I could still hear my mother's sobs and my father's low voice whispering that it would be okay to her.

I hadn't succeeded this night. But there was always next time.


End file.
